Fleeting Moments
by Szept
Summary: And even though he won't know it, Draven did find perfection in another.


One can not dispute that the practice matches are those where the real magic happens. These are the ones that the worst of the worst summoners happen to be spending their time in their quest for greatness.

Yet one has to remember they lack absolutely any sort of necessary dedication and basic intelligence for their goal to ever come close to reality.

Nonetheless, so called normals, really are a worthwhile place to spend one's time in. It's a different kind of battle that ensues, with a different set of rules, opponent do not know which champions one chooses to use. Champions do not really participate in those matches either, only their shadows, created from the power of nexuses. Thus, there are no restrictions regarding the subject of champions fighting against themselves.

Practice matches have been used for various differing intents, from studying champions' powers and abilities, through observing summoners' pure an unrestricted stupidity along with a couple of other behavioural patterns. To studying champions themselves (although mostly unintentionally).

Today is such a day, in which a so called mirror has appeared on the Fields of Justice. In the middle lane to be exact. And while many will point out that Draven does not fare so well against most any mid laner, one has to remember, summoners of this level of skill are usually dense and stubborn, using slogans such as mid or feed. Just to end up feeding anyway. The summoner leading our Draven is of course one of them. By a miraculous (if tragic) stretch of luck, the exact same situation took place on the opposing team's side.

Early in the match, one of them takes his stand in between the both teams' towers, his confident gaze scanning the horizon, completely unphased by a possibility of a gank. It is hard to say if it is a decision taken by a summoner or Draven himself.

Suddenly his eyes widen. For in the distance, he sees an image of perfection.

The figure of the man before him is like that of a statue, carved from the finest marble by the finest master. Tall and muscular, one could not simply look and not stare in awe at the sheer might radiating from the finely tanned individual standing before Draven. It is obvious for the most glorious executioner of all time, that fate itself must have blessed his opponent with the looks of a god, there simply is no other explanation in his mind, for how otherwise, can a man achieve such utter excellence?

But an excellence granted not only by gods themselves! From one look, the first he has ever given his opponent. He could already say that he is also in possession of a brilliant mind, such is the way in which he carries himself. It is no common occurrence that Draven sees a person whose choosing of garments can rival that of his own.

That alone of course is not enough to grant the man Draven's liking. But the way he has spiked his fine, dark hair, the perfect smile, the stylish tattoos. And the weapons of choice! The axes the man is carrying are on pair with his own. Something no other weapon has ever done before!

Yet, for all his obvious and unrestrained splendour, what has instantly granted him Draven's respect is something else. Something glorious. Something perfect! Something only those of great heart and mind are capable of ever achieving.

The glorious mustache!

The definition of greatness. The beauty incarnate! The epitome of style! Masculinity itself! A show of its owner nigh unreachable intellect.

The figure approaches Draven and strikes a pose. Flexing his amazing muscles, all the while grinning even wider a perfect smile.

Draven watches in astonishment. That is of course until it occurs to him that he is not making a brilliant first impression himself. How could he have forgotten! The Glorious Executioner returns the grin and favour, striking a pose himself.

Neither of them have noticed that the minions have already been battling for a while now. Their eyes fixed only on the other. Flashing each other one dashing smile after another. In each position their bodies take, any man, spirit or in fact god! Can see the pure beauty, simply oozing off of them in waves, basking the nearest area in light unseen by mortal eyes, visible only to those that are worthy. Fitting, that only the two can see it in the other.

Any creature alive that should happen to see the amount of unrestrained magnificence that pours off of them simply must recognize it as a life changing event, the glory Draven possesses should be an inspiration to any and all men, for them to strive towards a glorious future. One can almost imagine that were one of them to move, earth itself will shatter by the weight of breathtaking might that each step would carry.

Alas, it is not to be.

Summoners are by their nature not very spiritually sensitive beings. Caring only for their petty matches and lane creep. As such, the situation is quickly and forcefully resolved, and both parties are forced to partake in the insignificant game.

But there are those who remember, and will never forget those fleeting moments for which life is worth living for.

* * *

...what have I done.


End file.
